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Blurr and Blast Off at the Olympics: Part Two
Six Lasers - Bar Moon - Space That's no moon. It's a Bar Moon. Roughly a quarter the size of Earth's moon, Bar Moon is one of three Nepsan Lunar Satellites. The Moon has no breathable atmosphere, but a massive indoor city covers the entire surface. The city is one bar after another, ranging from safe, nearly family oriented pub and grills to sports bars to raunchy strip bars. There isn't a liquor for any alien species that one can't find on this moon. The one combining factor is that every bar has televisions set up to watch the Olympic games. Advertisements and tourism info booths are set up for those seeking transport to other attractions. Bar Moon is a major transportation hub, second only to Grand Central Station, with shuttles and cruise liners often leaving for most of the attractions. Artificial gravity wells keep the gravity close to Earth's, though after chugging too many back you might not notice. Blurr's just finished depositing Gycony at that ski resort on one of the Nepsan Lunar Satellites and ensuring that he was comfortable. Hopefully Scourge wouldn't go after him, but the Sweep had appeared rather occupied with the Insecticons. After assigning some field operatives to keeping an optic on the place to make sure the Decepticons didn't snatch the lizard-like alien away without Intel at least knowing about it, Blurr is busy seeking out something with which to clean his driver compartment...since Gycony had been quite terrified he'd...done that thing that organics sometimes involuntarily do when they're extremely freightened. While he was inside of the speedster. Yech. Picking up a container of a nanotech cleaning agent, he's busy applying it to his chest compartment when he catches sight of Blast Off. Hmm... he wonders how much the Combaticon knows... Blast Off walks down one of the streets, turning in front of a classy-looking bar called the Andromeda. The Combaticon awaits the end of the Olympics (plus the chance to enter any last-minute events he might possibly partake in) so he can go back to life as usual. Which will be nice- he won't have to play nice with the Autofools anymore. Most of whom he considers miserable, annoying, lesser, hypocritic, dirty, rotten... well, you get the idea of where this is going. He holds a datapad, perusing some mildly interesting tidbit of information as he waits in line confidently- and aloof, always aloof. He's been to this place often enough that the Bouncers know him- and, of course, the Gold Medals he's won- two of which hang off his neck. Inside the Andromeda- well, only *classy* mechs get inside. He considers it his refuge from annoying riff-raff, like, oh say, Blurr- who he doesn't notice in the crowd. Blurr quickly finishes up cleaning off the...refuse, then zips through the crowd toward the Andromeda. Blast Off will suddenly find the speedster standing in front of him. Unfortunately enough, a bar like this one might be refuge from some, but not from one like this speedster. He could likely get into just about any bar. He grins obnoxiously. "Heeey, Blast Off, buddy!" he laughs and points at the medals slung around the other mech's neck. "I just had to congratulate you on our win! I told you we'd be a good team! I see you got first in the two things you're supposed to be good at. Good job, would've been a shame if you hadn't!" Blast Off does a sort of slow-motion doubletake. One looong look up- in FRONT of him(?) in line, then optics firmly set back down upon the now suddenly quite interesting datatpad. Maybe Blurr will magically go away?... Look uuuup- nope, still there. Siiiigh. Fingers subconsiously begin to fiddle with his medals and his optics narrow. "..... Perhaps. Thankfully, that "team" only existed for one fight. Perhaps they knew it just couldn't last and decided to give us the medals while Gycony could still reap a profit from it? And WHEN do I GET that profit, anyway?" At the rest, he lifts his head up haughtily. "Was there ever any doubt I would win those?" he sniffs. "One fight? Tch!" Blurr laughs. "Was it so traumatic for you that your memory circuits just blocked out the experience after that? Haha!" He does find that quite amusing. "As for the profits, I guess you'd have to talk to Gycony about that, but oh wait--he's not available right now. Speaking of which, you were with Bombshell when the Insecticons attacked Metroplex, weren't you? Did he get you with his cerebroshells?" Blast Off gives Blurr a mildly annoyed look. "Possibly." Then he goes back to the datapad for a few astroseconds before glancing back up. "Gycony's not available... and I hear you Autobots have something to do with that." He mutters, "You'd better not interfere with my shanix..." Then he blinks at the last two sentences and responds wryly, . "Well! That's quite...direct. I would expect you to wait on asking such information until I at *least* have a few drinks in me, first. It's only... civilized." He looks ahead in the line... they're moving up, though entrance seems to be taking awhile right now because an event just got out nearby. Blurr ignores the comments about Gycony. He wasn't going to risk letting anything on. "Why, is it hard for you to talk about it?" the speedster chuckles. "Well, I guess I can understand that. Must've been traumatic, being subjugated by a bunch of second-rate, oversized, bugs." he says with a smirk. Blast Off 's vents huff slightly. "Kind of like being subjugated by a egomaniac Ilxian? Do tell..." He glances down at the datapad but mostly just seems to be staring at one spot, not actually reading anything. Feeling extra snarky, and pithy, he comments, "Tell me if I'll see Gycony soon- and most importantly, get PAID by him- and I'll tell you about ....that." Blurr waves a servo dismissively. "Oh, sure, sure! He's fine, really. You'll get to see him soon enough." Of course he's not going to say where he actually is. "Now tell me--did Bombshell get you with his cerebroshells?" Blast Off gives Blurr yet another annoyed look. He knows he's being brushed off here... but he also realizes Blurr won't willingly tell him WHERE Gycony is. "BE that way, then." He sniffs, then steps forward in line as it moves up towards the entrance. "Very well. I will tell you... but like I said before, it is only proper I've had a drink first." Blast Off's in the catbird's seat, after all... or at least that's how he sees it. A big, blocky Bouncer approaches, instantly recognizing Blast Off and nodding to him (the Combaticon has been coming here regularly, after all) but this guy's not really a racing fan. He glares at Blurr. "Why should I let YOU in?" he grunts. Blurr just gives the bouncer a look. "Excuse me? Do you even know who I am?" he asks in a pejorative manner. As if on cue, one of Gycony's ads featuring the Blurr-Blast Off team up starts to play on one of the videopanes right behind him and above the bar. Additionally, someone behind him just stares. Looks like someone from Velocitron. "Are you fragging serious? Pal, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he exclaims, then turns to a group of mechs behind him. "That idiot bouncer doesn't even recognize Blurr! I mean, wow, even with the Olympics going on and everything?! I can't believe it." The speedster smirks and turns back to the bouncer. "Let the fans speak for themselves." he says, chuckling. The Bouncer stares dumbly at Blurr, then the now squeeing legion of fans erupting on the street behind them. "Blurr? Blurr! Is BLURR here?!!?? Aieeeeee!!!" Blast Off just cringes, faceplatepalming, and attempts to fade unnoticed into the doorway. However, even he gets a few fans shrieking at him about how he must be cool because he's with BLURR... which just makes him turn and dart through the doorway as fast as he can.... dignity be slagged. The Bouncer gets elbowed by another Bouncer, who whispers something and points to the fans- then their business sign- and the first Bouncer nods. "Uh- sorry.. I apologize. We would be happy to have you patronize our fine establishment... this way, Sir..." and he points to the door. More fans gather outside and the two Bouncers run off to do some crowd control. "Sign my hood, Blurr!!!" shrieks a car-mech. "Pfff," Blurr shakes his head. Embarrassing moment for that guy, no doubt. Later all his co-workers will be grilling him about it and telling stories about that one time so-and-so didn't even recognize Blurr when he walked up to the door. "Yeah, um...I don't need you to show me where the door is, I have my own optics, thanks. Why don't you guys be a LOT more useful by keeping that mob under control, I've got business to deal with." And with that, he darts past them, attempting to follow Blast Off into the establishment. "Hey! Hey you never answered my question! I thought you were all about being honorable, huh? You said you'd tell me if I told you if you'd see Gycony soon." Blast Off thinks to himself that there are times he REALLY gets tired of the whole "being honorable" thing..... he's a Combaticon, a Decepticon, and that sort of thing really has no place with that crowd. It's not seen as a good thing usually. Combaticons get the job done- any way they can. And is he really all that honorable? On the level of, say, Bludgeon? Probably not. And yet... he looks around as he walks to the bar to order a drink in the rarified atmosphere of the Andromeda. It's high class... like him. Right? He's better than the rest, and more civilized than the average thuggish Decepticon riffraff. That DOES come with a sort of... code. Of civility. And even honor. Argh... thus this goes round and round inside his mind. Standing at the bar, the Combaticon receives his drink- something expensive and pretentious, naturally. As Blurr catches up, he stirs the drink slowly as he asks, "And what do YOU think happened, Blurr? Do you believe I did that because I wanted to do so?" "Heh...no." Blurr says honestly. Well, mostly because the report had said Blast Off hadn't been there of his own accord. "Slag, you're a Combaticon, you don't listen to would-be Shockwaves like Bombshell. Especially not Insecticons, and especially if they're working for someone other than Galvatron or Scorponok in this case, I guess." Blurr plops himself down onto a barstool next to Blast Off. "So like I said--I figured he got you with one of his cerebroshells. Or used some other method of coecion." "Heh...no." Blurr says honestly. Well, mostly because the report had said Blast Off hadn't been there of his own accord. "Slag, you're a Combaticon, you don't listen to would-be Shockwaves like Bombshell. Especially not Insecticons, and especially if they're working for someone other than Galvatron or Scorponok in this case, I guess." Blurr plops himself down onto a barstool next to Blast Off. "So like I said--I figured he got you with one of his cerebroshells. Or used some other method of coercion." Blast Off listens and utters a soft "heh". Still taking his time, he finishes stirring his drink then lifts it up to enjoy the aroma. Appearing satisfactory, he takes a sip, then another. Finally, he puts the drink down and turns to look at Blurr. Violet-gray optics gaze at the hovercar bot. "You are... correct. I'm impressed- you've actually been paying attention! I despise Bombshell and I will indeed have my revenge on him...one way or another. Insults to the Combaticons cannot go unanswered, after all." Blast Off finishes the drink, then adds, "He "got me" with a cerebro shell when I was alone and busy transporting some cargo during the Olympics. Which delayed me, and cost me entry into the Air Race." He looks down at the two medals hanging from his neck, absently fiddling with them again. "You ought to know that if I were to directly and deliberately attack Autobot City, I would be there with my entire team, not a bunch of lowly Insecticons." "That's what I figured." Blurr comments, leaning casually against the bar. "Didn't think it was likely you'd willingly cooperate with him, unless you'd been ordered to. Who do you think he was working for, anyway? You don't think he was just out on his own, do you?" The speedster knows who the Insecticons were working for, but he'd like to know what Blast Off thinks or knows. Of course he doesn't let the Combaticon know that. Blast Off snorts as he orders another drink. "Obviously not. He didn't come back from the dead by himself. That would be a neat trick, indeed." Taking the new glass, he stares at the bottom of it, considering. "That is all the information I have for you,..."partner". Anything more and I'm afraid I'd have to shoot you. We couldn't have that, now could we?" The Combaticon mentally counts off the astroseconds until he CAN shoot Blurr again, but today is sadly not that day. But it does make him wonder something... He looks at the Autobot, asking, "So... what do you think of the Olympics this year? Of the truce and all its little "hiccups"? And "rubbing elbows" with Decepticons at various sporting events? Quite a... unique situation, no?" "Heh." Blurr shrugs and slides off of the stool. He didn't think Blast Off knew much. If Archaeonix were smart, he wouldn't reveal much, if anything at all, to the Decepticons. "Unique? I don't know. We do it every meta-cycle. I mean, we always say there's a truce, but that really just means we try not to fight out in the open like usual." Otherwise, for all intents and purposes, the Autobots and Decepticons are still at war, Olympics or not. Especially for a division like Intelligence. It really only makes a difference for the Military division, doesn't it? "Why do you ask?" Blast Off nods. "True. Quite true." He takes a sip of his drink, considering the last question. Why DID he ask? His thoughts wander to his meeting with the cultured aerialbot Skydive here at this very bar the other night, his meeting with various Autobots and Decepticons in the medical tent, his conversations with Blurr. Multiple facets of various individuals, often showing a side not usually seen by the other faction. Some of them could almost make one feel less lonely. Almost. He shrugs. "No reason." Blurr looks surprised. "Really. Huh. You don't seem like the type to ask things just for the sake of...asking. I might even say it seems like you're trying to strike up a good conversation." he smirks. "You know as much as you claim to hate me, you sure tolerate spending quite a bit of time talking to me." "I mean, it even seems like you might even not just tolerate it but...actually find it interesting." He says after a brief pause. "It almost appears as if you're actually conflicted." Blast Off can't help but flinch slightly and lean away from Blurr, optics flashing as he stares at the other mech. Of course, Blurr is uncomfortably close to a truth that Blast Off hides so vigilantly, and this makes him quite uncomfortable. He puts his glass down with a thud, declaring, "That is utter nonsense. You are letting your own ego cloud your judgement, Blurr... you are so used to everyone liking you, that you are seeing kinship where it definitely does NOT exist. Do not forget that I look forward to besting you on the battlefield." He grabs the drink and downs the rest of it in one shot. "I have no need for such paltry things as "good conversation"- certainly not with Autobots! I am simply ...gathering information...!" Then the Combaticon stands up in a huff. "I think this is quite enough. I shall be going." He turns to leave, but then pauses to look back and he says, more quietly. "...But I notice you seem not to object too strongly either..." Blurr laughs wryly and nods. "Sure, sure you are. Gathering information, of course. Because my opinions about the Olympics could prove to be vital information. Well, I'm flattered, mech! But seriously," Blast Off's reaction to his comments are as close as one could get to proof that he'd struck a damaged circuit in the spark casing. He watches as the Combaticon starts off, and moves to leave himself. But he pauses momentarily. "If it's real companionship you're after..." he adds quietly, with a more serious tone. "...you're in the wrong place. You're not gonna find it with the Decepticons, that's for sure." But if Blast Off decides to turn around for a response, he'll find that the speedster has already left the bar. Blast Off heads off, not looking back, and determined not to listen to the Autobot, who's getting too close to truth for comfort. Nope. Not at all. He simply... can't. He throws a tip to the bartender and walks out the door, doing his best to look aloof, distant, alone and liking it. ...Right?